Thoughts and Consternations
by LeDiz
Summary: (Origins) The companions consider fellow companions with the Warden. Or not. (Short character pieces; no particular Warden or romances in mind)


_**Thoughts and Consternations**_

**DISCLAIMER:** Late to the game (ha.) because I was stubborn. And no secret companion because I can't bring myself to have him after that one time. And also because I think these are set before the Landsmeet. But whatever. No specific Warden or romance in mind.

* * *

They're disgusting, really – Alistair and the Warden. The way they can just glance at each other from across the camp and share a dozen thoughts, then look away with little grins.

Morrigan hates them for it, because really, it's just _wrong_ how warm and fuzzy it all is. And to _like_ _Alistair_—of all people—for being part of it when she finds him otherwise useless is just so... so utterly infuriating.

She really can't stand it.

* * *

They often have watch together, Leliana and the Warden. For which everyone is eternally grateful, because Maker knows Leliana can't be trusted to keep watch on her own.

But it is also maddening, because how is anyone supposed to sleep with the two of them talking to all hours? And the _way_ they talk, sometimes, the imagination can run wild! It can pull a man from his rest.

But then again... It's not unusual for Zevran to find himself jolted awake by a nightmemory, only to hear the soft sounds of Leliana's musical tones and the Warden's dry commentary. The fond, sweet sounds lull him back to dreams, and he sleeps easier for it.

* * *

No one really understands it – Oghren and the Warden. It's like the Warden can see something in him, and there will be no giving up until everyone else sees it too.

Wynne tries. She does. She listens to Oghren's drunken rambles to the Warden, gives the dwarf so many chances... even though, time and again, night after night, it all seems the same, and yet...

And yet she sees the Warden put a hand on Oghren's shoulder, and sees the look that is returned and she knows that... there must be something there worth the trouble. Her children never really chase pointless endeavours, after all.

* * *

It's like watching a cat and dog play, when Sten and the Warden have their curious conversations. Sten is possibly the only person who can make the Warden seem longwinded, but in their awkward sounding, stilted conversations, there is a hidden thread of incredible humour and respect.

Alistair is ever in awe of it. The way they dance around words, teasing and pulling.

He wishes he could match it.

* * *

It just looks dangerous – Morrigan and the Warden's relationship. Not because it's particularly violent or angry, but because it's destined for flames, for good or ill.

It reminds Oghren of Branka. And Felsi. Hell, all his women, really. And all his battles, too. You fight, and fight, and fight, and feed that flame and it roars in you like a stone-cursed lava flow, and be damned if it ain't the best feeling in the whole blasted world, right up until it dies.

Ancestors curse him for a fool, but this whole thing is one flame he wants to stay alight.

* * *

It is something sad, sweet, and delightfully spicy, the way Zevran and the Warden speak. They often do so in fleeting moments, casual conversations on the road or perhaps longer discussions as they set up camp at night. Even the most serious talks have a hint of flirtation, and Leliana covets the playful twinkles Zevran pulls from her Warden.

Zevran is a sad creature, Leliana thinks. Sad and beautiful, like the best tales are. She longs for those snippets of conversation, so that she might learn his story, weave it into a tale worthy of remembrance. She would never ask him anything herself. She would never intervene in their talks, much as she longs to know.

For this tale, this great tale—even in its smallest moments—is her Warden's, and she feels honoured enough to play along as she can.

* * *

It is often frustrating to see Wynne and the Warden. In many ways it is like seeing a grandmother with a child, or perhaps a teacher with a favoured but frustrating student.

Shale is not certain where she gets these images from, for she certainly doesn't recall experiencing such things herself. But there is something familiar about it. She imagines it must have been something she saw in the village, once. No doubt it was dreadfully boring, which is why she fails to remember the faces.

They are so familiar with one another, despite their short time together. Despite how much shorter that time will be given how old the old mage is. It is so very absurd. And it does not make Shale feel nostalgic for things she doesn't recall at all.

* * *

The understanding between Shale and the Warden is perhaps the clearest example of the Warden's brilliant madness, and the only reason why their group manages not to murder each other each night. By rights, the Warden is a doomed martyr, while Shale is an emotionless possession.

And yet together they have warmth, and honour, and a level of respect Sten did not expect to find outside the Qun. They are both Basalit-an, and he is proud to consider himself part of their aad.

The Warden has reminded Shale of life. The Warden has done so with many of their band.

* * *

Dog adores his pack, and his Warden. He picked them all with very particular precision, you know.

Alistair is a fun toy, and Morrigan is fun to tease. Leliana is going to write stories of his greatness, and he is sure they will include Sten as his loyal companion. He'll never tell, but he likes how Wynne scratches when she gives him baths. Zevran gives him secret treats, and Oghren plays with him when the bottles empty. He is careful to respect Shale, especially since she threatened to stomp him.

But most of all, he loves his Warden. His special one. The one who will save the world. The one he picked.

It's really as simple as that.


End file.
